I Swear
by kingsmeadroad
Summary: TV Prompt Challenge Entry- Prompt: A Race Through Dark Places. Hotch/Prentiss. Can he force himself to face his creator in order to save the woman he loves? Oneshot!


**Title: I Swear**

**Prompt: A Race Through Dark Places**

"_Anything, anything would be better than this agony of mind, this creeping pain that gnaws and fumbles and caresses one and never hurts quite enough__"_

_Jean Paul Sartre_

In a frenzy, Hotch ran ahead, screaming her name, "Answer me!! Please God answer me!!"

"Hotch! HOTCH!" Morgan screamed, running after his boss through the dark halls and depths of the abandoned factory. "Hotch! Don't do it man!" he roared, determined that above all else, no one else would die.

As he ran- faster than he ever had in his life- he thought about the past four days and the difficulties the team had faced. He remembered coming to work, seeing the pained expression on Hotch's face and the bad news that followed.... "She's been kidnapped"....

The words barely fitted in his head even now, even four days later when it had all come to a head in this dark, dank mire of festering hate. There was nothing Morgan could do to avoid the throbbing pain in his side- a stab wound four days old wasn't healing when he was under so much stress. Desperation overtook him as he realised that he couldn't run any longer.

It was up to Hotch now.

And hell, Aaron Hotchner could run when he needed to. They had been too late, too late to save her the pain and the grief- too late to save themselves the guilt; she had already suffered hugely and he would never forgive himself. Walls and doors, grimy windows and old offices passed him by in a panic of fast moving images. He had to move faster.

Determined and obnoxious as he always had been, he refused point blank to give up. He ran and ran, following the path of the killer who led him on. He knew that the chances of him surviving were slim; he was too panicked to think his decisions through properly- in truth, the unsub could shoot him at any moment. But clearly the killer was in the mood to play games.

Running and running, never stopping to breathe, Hotch came to the last corridor. The lights in the entire building clunked off and all he could see was a flickering from the last room on his left.

D Day. Ground Zero. The end of the was his stop.

He pulled up short, walking close to the door- as close as he dared to get, quite determined to at least get her out alive. His heart was pounding in his chest and he could hear his pulse echoing in his ears. He had dark thoughts, hopelessness threatened to overtake him. Behind him, he could hear Rossi and Reid struggling along the corridors to find their way in the dark, JJ and Morgan brining up the rear. He knew that they would all be too late though. This was his battle, to atone for his wrongs. He had left her there, alone and scared, unable to fit a profile to a serial killer and rapist who had held her hostage for four days.

Hotch cared about the other women. But he loved her. If he could have taken her place and trebled the pain she had gone through, he would do it without a seconds delay. But he couldn't do that.

He had no element of surprise on his side. The man inside the door knew exactly where he stood and why he stood there; knew the gun Hotch held and the weak spots in the flak jacket wrapped around his torso. Hotch was, for all intents and purposes, ruined. The disadvantages stacked against him and he forced himself on to face his maker. He just had one thing to do first. Get. Her. Out.

He forged into the door with his gun raised, immediately meeting the eyes of her captor. Hotch fired. Once. Twice. Three times. Felt something hit him solidly in the shoulder. His gun fell to the floor. He couldn't possibly fight any more- but he didn't need to.

The unsub daintily toppled over, blood streaming from his neck and mouth, his arm an awkward contortion of a bullet gone wild. Aaron Hotchner had good aim.

He reached up and pulled the knife from his shoulder, grunting quietly at the pain he felt as he did it.

He looked around the room. He squinted beyond the candle and saw her. Or at least, her bare leg. A sick feeling woke in his stomach and his knees shook as he walked closer. Please_, let her be okay. Please, please, please, please, let her be okay._ He prayed to every God he knew of or had heard of in the few seconds it took him to keep the vomit and shock away and walk closer to her.

As soon as he got there, he knew that she had made it. Her eyes were open and blinking, looking straight at him as though she had been waiting for him. She said nothing, but allowed him to get closer to her. Her clothes were destroyed; modesty and dignity destroyed by the man who lay dead on the floor.

Shouts out in the hallway of a disoriented team went unanswered as he pulled the flak jacket off, removed his suit jacket and knelt in front of her, dragging the material across her back and covering her with it. He dropped his gun and left it there, all other things, protocol included, forgotten as he moved closer to her.

Her eyes burned into his and he wanted to do nothing other than hold her forever; but first he had to get her out. He put one arm under her legs and another around her back, lifting her into the safety of his chest. She managed, somehow, to fix her arms around his neck and turn her body to face him, her eyes closing, for the first time in four days, as her cheek pressed against him.

He muttered soft assurances and reassurances to her, holding her close as he left the room and headed into the darkness.

Hotch knew the building well enough to know where he was going. He left the candle burning on the floor of the room he had just vacated, having taken his chance with death, and left with her in his arms. He would never, ever, ever let go of her again. He would never let her into such dark and lonely places; such suffering and such hate.

He swore it, right then and there, into her ear.

"I will never, ever let you go again Emily. Never."

The soft, cracked whisper that responded scared him more than anything. She had been broken and defeated, entirely lost and alone- desperate screams for help and hours of crying teamed with days of exhaustion meant she sounded like half the person she had been.

"I'm sorry Aaron. I'm sorry..."

Furious, he held her closer still and stopped in the hallway just as Rossi, finally, came round the corner with a torch, running toward them and shouting. It all seemed so far away. Blood ran down his shoulder and he felt weaker than before, but his anger spurned him on.

"This was not your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for. It was him Emily, not you. Never you," he said deliberately, his voice shaking.

She kissed his neck softly. "Aaron. Take me home," she sobbed, "Take me away from here."

His race through the darkest days of his life, was over.

"I will Emily," he said, tears falling quickly down his cheeks, "I swear I will."


End file.
